


Blind Date

by KitsJay



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M, kinkmeme fill, so hey guess what I was the Christmas anon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsJay/pseuds/KitsJay
Summary: Hank and Juliette have two gay friends, a lot of liquor, and a devious plan. What could go wrong?





	Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a fill on the Grimm kinkmeme.

**The Beginnings of a Plan**

“He’s just so unhappy,” Juliette said, sipping her margarita through a straw. It made a rude sucking noise as she reached the bottom, and she used it to stir the ice. “I mean, he acts fine, but he needs someone.”

“I know what you mean,” Hank said, taking another swig of his beer. “All Monroe does is work on those damn clocks.”

And, inbetween the fourth—or was it fifth?—round, they hatched a plan. It wasn’t a very good plan, few drunken ones are, but as they clinked their drinks together and made a pact to get their respective friends together, it sounded absolutely brilliant.

And who knew? Maybe it might actually work.

**The Getting Ready Stage**

Nick watched, appalled, as Juliette tossed shirt after shirt from his closet onto a giant pile of laundry that he knew he would have to hang up again. He picked one up and held it up.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

The look Juliette shot him was answer enough. Finally, she unearthed herself from under the clothes in his closet and blew her red hair out of the way, looking at him speculatively. “We’re going to have to go shopping.”

 

“Seriously, you’re wearing that?” Hank raised an eyebrow.

Monroe looked down at his olive green sweater vest, button-up shirt, and brown pants before looking back up with a bewildered expression. He clutched his sleeves protectively. “What’s wrong with this?”

“Where should I start? You’re going on a date, not a clockmaker convention.”

“Hey!”

“C’mon, we’ll get you some nice clothes.”

 

“Are you sure this is okay?” Nick fidgeted with the snug shirt.

Juliette batted his hands away. “It looks amazing,” she said, tugging it until the seams settled straight on his shoulders. It was plainer than she would have liked, but Nick absolutely refused to buy the gorgeous black and silver shirt she had found, and so she had settled on a rich red button-up, black pants, and a nice pair of shoes. She ruffled his hair and shushed him when he protested. “It’s bedhead. Very in right now, very sexy.”

“Sexy?” Nick kind of thought he looked like an escort. Not the suave, gets-paid-a-lot, either. More like the sleazy gigolo type.

Juliette beamed at him happily. “Sexy!”

 

Monroe stared at himself in the mirror. He blinked, but the image remained the same. A tall man, his hair brushed into some kind of submission, a subtle forest green shirt, black pants, and black shoes. The pants were tailored to fit, making his legs look impossibly long, the forest green bringing out the brown in his eyes and the tan of his skin. He shrugged, uncomfortable. “It’s fine, I guess.”

“Fine?” Hank repeated. He gestured vaguely. “You look awesome, man. You’ll knock him dead.”

“Sure,” Monroe said. “I guess.”

Hank clapped a companionable hand on his shoulder and gave him a supportive smile. If he were really supportive, Monroe thought darkly, he wouldn’t have set Monroe up on this blind date to begin with.

“Listen, man, I know we got off to a rocky start, but trust me, you’ll love this guy.”

“Sure,” Monroe repeated dully. “What could possibly go wrong?”

**The Date**

A lot. A lot could go wrong, Monroe thought while waiting in front of the restaurant, fiddling with his keys. He was early, a chronic condition for most clockmakers, and had been imagining every scenario with growing disastrous results until he was nearly sick with worry. More than once now he had nearly taken off, but only knowing the sting of being stood up—and the fact that both Juliette and Hank would kill him—kept him here, waiting in the cold for Nick to show.

Cheer up, he told himself sternly. I’m sure it’ll go fine.

Of course, that was when it decided to start raining.

He huddled under an awning, glaring at the passerby who dared to give him sympathetic looks, and shoved his hands under his arms. Not long after the rain started, but long enough to leave him soaked and mourning the utter destruction of his very nice pair of dry-clean-only pants, he looked up to see a bewildered man waving at him from across the street. He waved back tentatively. Hank must have told him about his car. He glanced toward the yellow bug, thinking wryly that it was pretty unique.

The man ducked out of his car with an umbrella, but all Monroe could focus on was the bright red shirt. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. He could feel instincts surging in him and tamped them down with a shudder. He was going to kill Hank.

“Hi, I’m—“

“Yeah, you’re Nick, I’m Monroe, that’s very nice, I’m really sorry but can you change your shirt?”

Nick stared at him, mouth open, while Monroe tried very hard to look apologetic and not directly at him at the same time. He didn’t think it was working. A woman passing by gave him a strange look and he felt like apologizing to her, too.

“Uh,” Nick said intelligently.

Monroe squinted his eyes shut. “Sorry. I just have this thing about the color red.”

“Like a phobia?” Nick said uncertainly.

“Yes,” Monroe said gratefully. “A phobia. Of red.”

“I think I have—hang on.” Monroe could hear the rush of air where he disappeared and the creak of a car door swinging open. There was an indefinable change in the air. He hesitantly opened one eye, then the other. “How’s this?”

Nick was wearing an old Academy sweatshirt, the only thing he had in his car, over his undershirt. It looked well-worn and comfy, completely at odds with his dress pants and shoes. Monroe nodded gratefully. “Yes, thanks, that’s—much better,” he stuttered, realizing for the first time that Hank was his new best friend. Nick was _gorgeous_. A square, strong jawline without making him look like a jock, big gray eyes, skin so pale that it looked like porcelain. Monroe wished the rain wasn’t washing away everything’s scent—he bet Nick smelled like sandalwood and musk, sweetest in the crook of his neck. He realized he was staring when Nick began fidgeting, his smile fading into a polite fiction. “Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Nick said, a trifle shyly, and Monroe found himself unreasonably attracted by the faint blush moving up his cheeks. “Should we—“

“Yeah,” Monroe said, leading the way. “I hope you don’t mind, it’s just a bar, but it’s got great food.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Nick said. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

It was a far classier bar than the sorts that Nick usually frequented. There were little bistro tables, filled with chatting couples, and the bar was gleaming and the bartender actually looked like she was polishing the glasses instead of smudging the dirt around on them. The prices were a little bit more than he expected—hell, he could get two onion rings for the price of half of one at this place—and he turned to say something to Monroe.

The man was… sniffing.

“Allergies?” Nick asked as casually as he could manage.

Monroe stared at him, eyes wide and he backed up a little, nearly bumping into a pretty blonde woman with too-bright lipstick.

“You’re a—“

“Um,” Nick began, when Monroe grabbed his arm and pulled him near the men’s room. Nick struggled half-heartedly, losing the will to when he saw Monroe’s face shift into that of a distinctly lupine creature. He stared.

“You’re a Grimm!” Monroe hissed. He made a little moaning noise. “I can’t believe this. Wait, yes I can. Because apparently I pissed off someone and now am destined to live alone.”

“That’s not,” Nick floundered. He patted Monroe’s shoulder, unsure the touch was welcome. “Uh, there, there.”

Monroe’s head jerked up and he stared disbelievingly into Nick’s face. “Are you for real?”

“I’m not a unicorn, if that’s what you mean,” Nick said.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Monroe said peevishly. “Everyone knows they’re rea—wait, you’re new.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Nick said. “Listen, I am new to this whole Grimm thing, but I don’t want to hurt you. And I know it’s… uh, not really gotten off to a good start, but can we just sit down, do normal date things? My friend will kill me if this doesn’t go well.”

He tried a smile, until Monroe grudgingly accepted, sitting across from him at a table and flagging the waitress down for two beers.

“So.”

“So.”

They stared at each other.

“Um, what do you do for a living?” Nick tried.

“I’m making awkward small talk with a Grimm,” Monroe said. He shook his head abruptly. “Sorry, that’s hard to get past for me.”

“And I’m trying to make awkward small talk with a blutbad,” Nick said calmly. He took a swig of his beer.

“Touche,” Monroe said. His shoulders seemed to relax some. “As for your previous question, I make clocks.”

“Must be interesting.”

“Not really,” Monroe said shortly. “How about you?”

“Uh, cop,” Nick said. This wasn’t how his first dates usually went. There was usually smooth conversation, broken by awkward pauses and half-truths that inevitably came out on the third or fourth date. Maybe Juliette had a point when she said he kept picking up awful guys, but he didn’t see how this blunt honesty was a good thing, necessarily. He continued, “I’m a detective, actually.”

“So that’s how you know Hank.”

“Yeah, next year I’m going to be trying for detective. Hank offered to help me out on the exams.”

“Hank’s a good guy,” Monroe said with some affection.

Nick nodded, back on steady ground. He smiled. “So how do you know him?”

“He thought I kidnapped a girl.”

Nick’s drink nearly spilled down the front of his shirt. He coughed, reaching for a napkin to wipe it off his face. “Oh. That’s…”

“I didn’t,” Monroe said belatedly.

“Yeah, I figured. What happened?”

And he listened with interest while Monroe recounted the whole story, occasionally interrupting to ask questions, then launched into his own tales of working in the office, including a home invasion gone wrong that turned out to involve Jägerbars, a Roh-hatz (“Really? People still do that?” Monroe shook his head. “Was there wailing? I hate it when they wail”), and one very pretty blonde burglar.

The end of the night found them walking slowly back to their cars, each reluctant to let the night end. Monroe walked Nick to his first and Nick leaned against the door, wondering if he should make a joke about chivalry. It had been too long since he had been out on a date. Monroe seemed to be considering something, then, making up his mind, leaned forward and captured Nick’s lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.

He stepped back, leaving Nick dazed.

“So, um, I’ll call you?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, fumbling with his keys. “That’d—that sounds good.”

“Great,” Monroe said, then disappeared down the street.

Nick sat in his car for a long time before finally heading back to a house that suddenly felt depressingly empty.

**The Call**

“Do I call him? He said he’d call me,” Nick fretted. “It’s been two days. Was that just him being polite? He wasn’t polite before.”

Juliette let out an exasperated breath over the phone.

“Nick, honey, I love you,” she said. “You know that.”

“I do,” Nick said.

“If you weren’t gay, we’d be living together in happy bliss about now,” she continued.

“Also true.”

“So know I say this with love: get off the phone with me and give that man a damn call!”

“But—“

The line went dead, and Nick stared at it bemusedly. He sighed, about to punch in Monroe’s number when he hesitated and ended the call before it even began.

He was considering listening to Justin Bieber, since he had so clearly _turned into a teenage girl_ when the phone rang. He checked it, seeing Monroe’s number. He panicked. Should he wait? He didn’t want to seem desperate, but he didn’t want Monroe to think he wasn’t interested either. In his indecision, he accidentally hit the answer button.

“Fuck!”

“Uh, hi?” Monroe’s voice carried through the line.

“Sorry,” Nick said, feeling his face heat. “That wasn’t aimed at you. I just—um, hi.”

“Hi.”

There was an awkward pause and Nick seriously debated smothering himself to death with a throw pillow. “So, I had a really good time the other night.”

“Me, too.”

“And sorry I didn’t call earlier, but I got caught up in something.”

“That’s okay,” Nick said quickly. “I understand.”

“Great, so I was thinking, are you free Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, then hastily added, “Uh, I mean, I think. I’d have to check. But I think so.”

Monroe’s voice sounded amused. “O-kay. Well, if you are, how’s the Blue Moon Bar sound?”

“Sounds good,” Nick said with a smile, something in him easing. “Say around 9:00?”

“Works for me.”

“Great.”

“Then it’s a date.”

Yeah, Nick thought, it was. One hell of a disastrous, farcical, _amazing_ date.


End file.
